Breadcrumb #341


my creators used their teeth
to bring my form
through a gauzy

membrane – 
a wilderness sprawls
over the hearth

& here I am kept
drying, upside down,
a flower to be pressed

under no real weight.
i came to you wrapped
in no blood

but my own & smelling
of pumpkin. what am i
if not a spell / a psalm /

something that isn’t there?
there are fires written
in my cursive. kneel

to them. the electric
of me conducts full
shadows & i

am only true
in that glow
of absence.

• • •